“Looks like you have some friends who like them too.”
I sat back on the grass, broke off a piece of a third cookie, and popped it in my mouth. Lemony goodness hit my tongue, a hint of lavender creeping in as I chewed.
“Wow… I can see why these were your favorite.” They were delicious: bright, slightly crunchy, and not too sweet.
Silence settled over the cemetery as I finished the cookie. I wanted to say more, to make Aunt Evelyn promises: that I would take good care of the house and the bakery, that I would take care of the people she’d loved in Blackwell Hollow.
But those would be promises I couldn’t keep. I needed to sell everything and get back to the city.
Except sitting in front of Aunt Evelyn’s grave, selling everything suddenly seemed almost blasphemous.
Several more bluebirds had joined the first two, and I finished breaking up the second cookie and tossed the pieces toward the delicate twittering birds.
And then, all at once, the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I turned my head, half expecting someone to be watching me. But the cemetery was empty, nothing but gravestones stretching across the grass, the shadows under the giant trees suddenly looking more ominous than welcoming.
And there was something else: the birds were gone. I mean, I’m sure they were still around somewhere, but they were out of sight, their chirping silenced.
The abrupt quiet was disconcerting, the feeling of being watched unshakable.
I rose to my feet and placed the last cookie on top of the first on Aunt Evelyn’s grave.
“Thanks for the visit. Clara says hello, by the way, although it looks like you have plenty of company.” I touched the cool granite headstone. “I’m glad. Thank you for everything.”
The feeling of being watched persisted until I passed out of the cemetery and I found myself walking faster, eager to reach the marina and boat launch where there would be more people.
I dropped the bakery box in a recycling can and retraced my path along the lake. The motorboat had disappeared but the sailboats were still on the water, taking advantage of the breeze, and the boats anchored in the marina bobbed in the water.
When I reached Main Street at the end of the path, my gaze was drawn again to the sign in front of Finch Farm.
I frowned, muttering as I passed, “Where modern luxury meets traditional comfort, my apples.”
12
AVERY
When I got backto the house it was cooling off outside, the sun sinking behind the mountains. I was exhausted, the long day and everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours hitting me with full force.
I was ready for a quick dinner, a bath, and a long sleep.
But when I walked into the house, it was to the roar of the vacuum coming from the parlor off the foyer, a man bent over, shoving the vacuum nozzle into the corner of the room.
And not just a man — a sculpted, inkedshirtlessman wearing nothing but boxer briefs.
My gaze locked onto the muscled globes of his ass, his chiseled thighs straining the fabric of his white boxer briefs. My pulse raced and the flush that rose in my cheeks spread throughout my body until I was tingling all over.
And I do meanall over.
I don’t know how long it took me to get a grip and realize I was staring but I finally forced my legs to move and made a beeline for the stairs, planning to hide in my room until I could get… whatever this was under control.
Except I didn’t see the vacuum cord, stretched across the floor from the parlor into the foyer.
My foot caught on the cord and I went down fast.
The vacuum cut off all at once, the ensuing silence deafening in the moment before Beck appeared over me. His eyes, the color of dark honey in the waning sunlight streaming in through the big windows, were clouded with worry.
“Holy fuck, are you okay?” He reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet.